


Three Weeks

by shocked_into_shame



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: A whole mix of universes, Alternate Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Slash, Smut, Tiny bit of Angst, gay af, probably going to be REALLY ooc, raoul is just an angel baby, this is growing more and more ooc by the second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: During the Final Lair scene, Christine struggles to make a decision and instead agrees to a deal with Erik. Raoul will remain with him in his house on the lake, and Christine will return with her choice in three weeks. Erik and Raoul both begin to discover that their preconceived notions about each other - as well as what they feel for Christine - are easily challenged. Explicit E/R slash.





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in this fandom for... 6 or so years now, but I've never written a slash fanfic. I finally decided I could not resist the temptation anymore.  
> This story is a whole mix of universes and such.  
> Erik isn't quite Gerik, but he's probably a little bit hot.  
> Raoul is not Patrick Wilson. He is probably a mix of like... Aaron Taylor-Johnson in Anna Karenina without the mustache and Adam Storke, who played Philippe in the Charles Dance TV miniseries.  
> Christine is just Emmy Rossum, but it doesn't even matter that much.  
> Oh, and Erik's house on the lake is actually a house on the lake, a-la Leroux. It has bedrooms and doors and a kitchen and a bathroom, because I always wondered where the hell Gerik went potty.  
> In all seriousness, I really hope people read this and enjoy it, because I don't think there is nearly enough Erik/Raoul slash out there, and I've reread Lucifer Rosemaunt's stories so many times that I just decided to add one to the archive. Enjoy! Please leavekudos/comments if you like it.

Christine's lower lip trembled as she felt her resolve crumble beneath her. Raoul gasping for air, strung up like a criminal against the portcullis, and the Phantom before her, biting out harsh and evil words- the small woman could not bear it any longer. To be wrapped up in this conflict, caught between two men she loved, made her feel insignificant and powerless.

Raoul, gasping, began to plead again for Christine to run away, leave him for dead; her angel tugged on the rope around Raoul's neck again, the deep baritone of his voice echoing, grating, off the catacomb walls. A cacophony of harsh sounds filled the young soprano's ears; her heart raced faster and faster, the walls closing in as water seeped into her shoes.

“Stop!”

The two men's heads sharply turned toward her, in awe and surprise at her harsh screech.

Christine looked at the Phantom and pleaded, “If you truly feel for me, you will not do this to me. What does making me your prisoner achieve? If you go through with this you will gain only a wife who despises you for keeping her captive and killing one of her only true friends.” Her voice cracked in desperation. “Please. I know that you are not so cruel as to do this to me... Do you really want a miserable, empty woman for a wife? Don't you want someone to trust you and love you for you?”

The ghost snarled, the angry red of his marred cheek twisting. “No one could truly love me, Christine.”

“That's not true! I do love you. Just not enough to make a decision like this. You must give me time to think. I am not afraid of your face. I am only afraid of putting my faith into a man I do not truly know. Please. Just give me time to think.”

“Time?! You want time? Well, the clock is ticking for your love, mon ange,” he barked in response, tugging on the rope around the blond's neck once again.

“Do you truly think that killing Raoul will change anything? I do not know how I feel about him, either!”

That declaration stopped the ghost in his tracks, his lips parting slightly in surprise before returning to an angry grimace. The Vicomte visibly sagged, as though the life had been sucked out of him with those words.

Christine looked down, cheeks coloring slightly. “I love you, Raoul. I do. But our relationship has moved so very fast, and although I knew you in my childhood I have only known you as an adult for a very short while. How can I marry a man who I do not truly know?”

Raoul caught Christine's eyes, stunning blue meeting warm brown, and gasped out, “Christine. I will not make you marry me. You can have all the time in the world to decide. All I wish is for your friendship.”

The Phantom rolled his eyes, sniggering under his breath. “Oh, how very noble of you, boy. I assure you, however, you cannot be Christine's friend from the grave.”

“Stop it! Just stop with that! Do you think that this impresses me? I have said before that I do care about you, angel. I just need to think. Just as I do not truly know how I feel about Raoul, I do not know how I feel about you. If you would give me time, I could reason it out. But making me decide like this does nothing.”

The Phantom's face twisted into a slow, menacing grin. “Fine. You want time? I'll give you time. three weeks. You get three weeks to decide. But just in case you are trying to fool me... the boy stays here, with me.”

“No!” Christine gasped out in horror. “I didn't do this so you would take him as a prisoner. Please. I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“I- I accept your offer, Monsieur Phantom,” Raoul stuttered out, looking at anything but Christine.

“No! Raoul, please, you don't know what you are doing! He'll kill you the minute I go!”

The ghost laughed, shaking his head. “No, no your precious Vicomte is safe. However, if you do not return with a decision in three weeks, I will kill him.”

“Christine. Please. Just do this. Please.”

“And what if I come back and you are not my choice, angel? What happens then?”

“Well.. we will see then, I suppose.”

The woman glanced between the two men. Total opposites. Even wet, sweaty, and gasping for breath Raoul was a thing of beauty and youth, with his long blond hair and stunning blue eyes. Unmasked the Phantom was menacing, hideous and pitiful. But Christine knew better, knew that deep down, the two men had something in common- they were both devoted to her, and, in their own ways, willing to make sacrifices for her.

“I,” her voice failed her. She breathed deeply, telling herself that she could handle this. “I accept your offer. I will leave and return in three weeks with a decision. But first, please untie Raoul... he grows more purple by the second.”

With a roll of his eyes, the Phantom waded over to the strung up boy before untying him. Raoul fell forward into the ghost's arms, his legs giving out beneath him.

“Get-” the ghost snarled, struggling to hold Raoul's weight. “Get off me, you insolent...”

A loud shout cut him off, echoing throughout the cellars.

“What was that?” Raoul asked, wide blue eyes staring into the Phantom's emerald as he gained his footing. Raoul tried not to become mesmerized by their brilliant green. 

The ghost quickly sprang into action. “That is a mob, I believe. Coming for me.” He quickly went to a table in his home, grabbing a large knife and cutting himself in the arm with it with a harsh gasp of air. Christine panted at the sight of blood trickling out, and was rendered soundless as the Phantom gathered the hot red liquid before spreading it over the front of her white wedding gown.

“You will go up to the surface through this passageway. You will tell the mob that Raoul scampered off, wounded, you know not where. But not before he was able to gain the upper hand and kill me. The blood on your dress is mine. I will see you in three weeks, Christine.”

Christine felt tears welling up in her eyes but quickly wiped them away, knowing that following her angel's orders was crucial to his and Raoul's safety. With one last look at Raoul, she fled toward the opening that the Phantom had pointed her toward.

Once she was safely gone, the ghost crumpled to the ground, clutching his arm and letting out a long, horrible sob.

Raoul was cold, his neck hurt, and he was completely and utterly unsure of how to proceed. Lying in a heap before him was the Phantom, who had been reduced to a blubbering, bleeding mess as Christine left. The blond boy felt tired and helpless; he could very easily ignore the ghost's pain, leaving him to his own devices. However, he knew that the wound on the man's arm could not go untreated without repercussions, and curse Raoul and his kind heart, he could not watch this man suffer in pain. Slowly, as though approaching a feral animal, Raoul walked over to the broken man.

“Monsieur?” he asked, the tenor of his voice small and childish. The Phantom gazed up at him with shining, wild eyes. Raoul felt trepidation sink into him, and suddenly felt as though he were making a bad decision. But he could not let himself be needlessly cruel. “Monsieur, you cannot leave your wound untreated.. Let me stitch it for you.” Raoul had always sewn growing up, essentially raised by his sisters; then, when he was in the navy, he would often stitch small wounds that his shipmates gained.

The Phantom moved to refuse, but a sharp pain went through him, blood continuing to seep out of the cut he had made in a foolish move. The man quickly acquiesced, “Fine, boy. But make this quick. There is a needle and thread in the oak bureau over there.” Raoul scampered over, grabbing at the supplies he needed, and finding a washcloth and some water.

“Do you have any liquor, Monsieur? I do not advise that you endure this without the aid of something..”

“I am not a pansy, Vicomte. I can handle a little needle.”

Despite his better sensibilities, Raoul did not want to argue with the Phantom. He quickly knelt beside the now-sitting man, and prepared the needle and thread. He then grabbed the Ghost's arm, laying it in his lap and wiping away the blood before quickly making the first stitch. The wounded man gasped harshly, jerking a bit in Raoul's grasp. Raoul rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “And that is why you needed the cognac.” The Vicomte continued to make small, practiced stitches in the pale flesh of the man's arm, attempting to move quickly, but he knew that his patient was having trouble standing it.

“Just breathe through the pain,” Raoul said, looking up. And that is when he noticed how close he truly was to the Phantom's mangled face. Red, angry skin stretched over bone, eye drooping on one side; Raoul quickly looked away, a mixture of disgust and pity settling in his stomach. His look, however, did not go unnoticed.

“My mask,” the Phantom gasped out, suddenly realizing that he was left vulnerable, his face open to the Vicomte's gaze. “Stop, dammit, and let me get my mask.”

“Do not fret over that right now... I am almost finished. Just hold still.” Raoul finished the stitches quickly before tying off the thread at the end. “Alright. You will want to be very careful with that arm, in order to let-” The boy was cut off as he was pushed aside by the Phantom in a dash to retrieve his mask.

After his face was covered, the Phantom turned into a completely different man before Raoul's eyes. He stood straight and tall, and not a fraction of the broken man Raoul had seen was left. Harshly, he bit out, “You are not a guest here, boy. I am not a charming host. Stay out of my sight,” before exiting through a large wooden door.

Confused and disappointed, Raoul felt the exhaustion that had been building suddenly hit him like a train, and he curled up on his side on the hard ground, letting sleep overtake him.


	2. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to those who read, left kudos, bookmarked, or commented. I was surprised at the number of hits the first chapter got in a relatively little amount of time, and I’m excited to proceed with the story.   
> Here’s a somewhat important thing about the layout of Erik’s home: I am basing the layout loosely on Erik’s home in Leroux. I always thought it was odd that Madame Giry refers to the Phantom as an “architect” but both in the movie and musical there is basically no suggestion that Erik has actually built a house for himself, which I think is very plausible.
> 
> I decided, however, that the torture chamber/wine cellar were far too creepy for a romantic story so I am cutting those out. Like in the novel, however, there is a drawing room right off the main entrance (where I have placed Erik’s organ and where Raoul stitched Erik’s wound) attached to a dining room and kitchen. In the far corner is Erik’s master bedroom (with NO coffin) and he has an ensuite bathroom. Christine’s room is to the left of the drawing room, and it has an ensuite bathroom, too. If anyone is super confused about layout and is crazy like me to the point where stuff like that really matters, I can send you a link to a picture of the layout I imagine. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter (even though it goes nowhere fast).

Erik awoke with a start, gasping as pain shot through his arm. He muttered a curse under his breath, moving the black silk sheet off his body and getting out of bed. He quickly dressed before putting on his wig and mask. Then, suddenly, Erik remembered that he was not alone in his house. After the boy had stitched his wound, he had left him there in the drawing room. 

Christ, the Vicomte was probably gone by now, had probably found a way out... He and Christine were most likely together, kissing and making wedding plans, dreaming of a happy life together, as far away from the monster as possible.  
He dashed out of his bedroom.

What he saw sent him reeling. There, on the hard floor, laid the blond boy, fast asleep. The air escaped from Erik’s lungs, leaving him dizzy as he truly looked at Raoul for the first time. Soft, clear porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, fine blond hair falling around him like a halo, and plump, pink lips parted slightly in sleep. He was... he was beautiful. Erik had known that the Vicomte was attractive, but he had not observed his youthfulness, his physical flawlessness, the angelic aura that seemed to glow around him as he slept peacefully on dark, cold ground.

Erik grimaced and shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of positive thoughts toward the boy. He thought of Christine and her beauty, her gorgeous voice, and reminded himself that if it weren't for the boy in front of him he and Christine would be together and happy...But that was not entirely true, was it? Nothing Erik could have done, regardless of whether or not Raoul existed, would have kept Christine tied to him. He had lied to her, leading her to believe that angels and fairy tales were true. Christine did not love him as a man or as a husband... No. The Phantom had trained her into loving him as a god, as a teacher.

Raoul began to stir, waking up slowly and groaning as he realized the surface on which he lay. He got up slowly, grimacing and letting out a slight whimper as his back cracked from being curled up the entire night. The boy then noticed that he was not alone, and his eyes met the ghost’s. He croaked out a, “Good morning, Monsieur Ghost.” 

Erik rolled his eyes at the title. Hearing Raoul call him “Monsieur”, as though he possessed the Vicomte’s respect at all, infuriated him to no end. He was reminded why he hated this perfect man in front of him. He hated his beauty. He hated his insistence on being polite despite all that had transpired between them. He hated everything about him. “Stop calling me that, you idiotic fop.”

Raoul attempted to clear his voice which was thick with sleep, worsened by the fact that he had not had anything to drink for some time. He had apparently resolved to ignore the insult. “What do you wish for me to call you?”

Erik contemplated that question as he walked away from the Vicomte, retrieving a glass of water from his kitchen. He hoped the Vicomte wouldn’t see the gesture as a move toward camaraderie; no, he simply couldn’t stand to listen to the grating sound of Raoul speaking while parched. Roughly shoving the glass at the blond boy, he grated out, “My name is Erik.” 

Raoul gratefully drank the water, taking it in large gulps and sighing once satiated. “Erik. Well, it is nice to know you, Erik. Thank you for the water.” 

Erik granted Raoul no response, stalking away from him to sit at his organ. “I must play now. Refrain from bothering me.” Erik could not afford to be distracted by the Vicomte’s physical beauty. He had to remember that he was nothing more than an unintelligent noble who had everything he could ever want in life handed to him and had never faced any real challenge. It was an injustice that the Vicomte, who possessed no real talent or intelligence, was allowed to roam freely while Erik was not. 

Erik could not help but notice that Raoul paled slightly, and seemed to be itching to say something. The masked man barked, “Out with it, you idiot. I don’t have the patience for this.”

After taking a noticeably deep breath, Raoul looked Erik in the eyes – God, such brilliant, shining blue – and asked, “Do you think it is wise to play? How do we know that the mob is not still lurking? If they hear the sounds of the organ they might come for us.” 

“Oh, are you so afraid, Vicomte? I thought you were so fearless, the pinnacle of man.”

Raoul simply shook his head, and Erik watched in awe at the transformation before him. Raoul grew less and less timid, daring to raise his voice and meet Erik’s eye without trepidation. He was rising to the challenge and Erik felt a twinge of excitement. “I was in the navy. I have seen such things that would make you die from fright, I assure you. But you are injured. I have not had a good night’s sleep in over a week. And no matter how talented we both may be at swordsmanship, we cannot fight off a mob, just the two of us.” 

Erik took a deep breath, considering the Vicomte’s explanation and dwelling slightly on the subtle compliment. He conceded, “Alright, we must be quiet. But if they do not come for us soon they have most likely gone, believing that you truly killed me and that you must have been injured in the fire.” 

“I’m glad you agree… Also, if I am expected to no longer call you Monsieur, then I do not want to be called Vicomte. My name is Raoul.” 

Erik rolled his eyes and briefly considered that Raoul might genuinely be one of the daftest people he had ever encountered. “I know what your name is, boy.”

Raoul crossed his arms and his cerulean eyes turned icy. Clearly Erik was getting to the boy, slowly but surely tearing away at the perfect façade. He grated, “I am aware. I am also aware that when you call me Vicomte, it is not related to your respect for me or my title. And frankly I am tired of being mocked.” 

“But how can I resist, when you are just so easily mocked?” Erik couldn’t help but grin manically, certainly enjoying this verbal game of cat-and-mouse. Rather than completely lose his composure, like Erik had intended and desperately wanted to witness, Raoul just rolled his eyes and sighed, walking away from Erik to sit on his small sofa, the only seating arrangement in the room other than his organ bench. Erik watched silently as exhaustion seemed to overtake the blond boy, and he closed his blue eyes, nodding off slightly. 

Erik considered letting Raoul sleep in the Louis-Phillipe room, which he had constructed and decorated specifically for Christine. Something about allowing Raoul to occupy that sacred space felt wrong, but he was also aware of the annoyance it would cause if Raoul treated the drawing room as his bedroom. He cleared his throat and spoke to Raoul, who jolted awake at the timbre of his voice. “Allow me, then, to show you to where you can sleep. I remind you, again, that I am not your host and you would do well to stay in this room for the duration of your time here.” 

Once Raoul had inspected and entered the room, shutting the door behind him, Erik let out a sigh and sat down rather ungracefully on his sofa, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into.


	3. Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am alive. And so is this story, I promise. I’m an undergrad and school hit me in the face really quickly and I had no time to write fanfiction. But it’s summer now, I have some inspiration, and I’d like to complete this story over the next month or two. I hope that there are still people willing to read after I left y’all hanging since October. I’m sorry about that! Let’s get on with the story. I apologize if my tone/style has shifted slightly. I haven’t written prose in a long time.

Raoul was grateful to have his own bedroom, a space for him to sit and sleep away from the cold gaze of the Phantom. Erik, he corrected. The last time he politely referred to Erik as monsieur, he was chastised. He had to remember to refer to his masked host as Erik so as not to cause any problems. 

Or, he should not refer to him as anything. The man had made it abundantly clear that Raoul was not to address him at all, and not to involve him. Erik’s need to be free of him was obviously so intense that he felt it proper to give Raoul a bedroom intended for Christine. Raoul had taken one look at the rose-colored sheets and instantly knew that Erik had created this room for his precious soprano. 

Raoul sat on the bed with a sigh, marveling at the plush of the mattress and the soft caress of silk sheets. At least the room was comfortable, the Vicomte considered. He was very grateful that the man had not decided to just tie him up for the duration of his stay. No, he had a clean, comfortable room with a small bathroom and tub to take care of himself privately and quietly. 

He did, of course, notice, that his clothing was not in a comfortable state, and he smelled quite rank. The smell permeating the room- with the Vicomte at the source- was akin to the smell of sewage. He supposed that this was a direct result of standing knee-deep in the lake during their altercation, and then immediately sleeping in those clothes, on the ground no less. It was a very easy decision, then, for the Vicomte to begin stripping himself of his dirty clothing. 

He made his way to the bathroom and began to draw himself a bath, shocked by the hot, running water. He had doubted when Madame Giry claimed that Erik was a master architect. However, after seeing this house underground, equipped with rooms and a masterful plumbing system, Raoul was truly awed at the man’s genius. 

And, once again, he found himself immensely grateful for the man’s genius as he sunk into hot water, enjoying the generously-sized tub. He gently scrubbed his skin with soap, reveling its sweet-smelling fragrance. After he decided that he was suitably clean, he emerged from the tub, drying himself with a beautifully embroidered towel that Raoul knew to be imported. Again, he marveled at the masked man’s attention to detail when he came to this home and to these quarters he created for Christine. 

Wrapping himself in the towel, the blonde-haired man left the small room and entered the bedroom, immediately noticing the neatly-folded robe that had been left on the bed. There was also a note left with the garment, written in the ghost’s easily recognizable scrawl. 

Vicomte- I mean, Raoul,   
Here is a robe for you to wear for the duration of the evening, as I do not desire to see you naked, nor do I desire to continue to smell the stench of sewage that has permeated my house in your wake. Your clothes, unfortunately, are beyond repair. Tomorrow I will gather some of my own garments and attempt to modify them to fit your frame.   
Dinner will be served in an hour. I remind you, again, that I wish not to make friends with you.   
-Erik.

Raoul felt the smile creeping up on his face as he read the note. After he finished reading, he lifted the black, silk robe that Erik had left for him. It clearly belonged to the man, as it was longer than Raoul’s own garments. Raoul put it on, inhaling the deep, musky scent of the fabric. It was soft and clean, and the Vicomte felt better once he had put it on. He reveled in the warmth it provided, and was able to admit to himself that it made him feel rather cozy. 

Shyly, he emerged from the bedroom and stood silently in the drawing room, waiting for Erik to tell him where dinner would be served. He gazed at the room in front of him, eyeing the sofa, the organ, and the many books adorning a large oak bookshelf. He walked toward the shelf and began to read the book titles, wondering what Erik had in his personal library. 

“Are you going to keep dawdling, or are you ready to eat supper?” Erik’s voice sounded behind him, and Raoul turned quickly, slightly startled. 

“I apologize, Mons- Erik. Where shall we eat?”

Erik led him into a simply decorated room with a large wooden table and chairs. As they walked, Raoul noticed that Erik had not changed into night clothes, but was still wearing full formal dress, a cloak, and, of course, his stark white mask. Raoul suddenly felt very vulnerable in only a silk robe, with no undergarments and bare feet. 

Raoul sat at the table as Erik went into an adjoining room before emerging with a tray. He set a bowl of soup and a piece of bread before Raoul and then sat at his own place at the head of the table. Quietly, Raoul thanked the ghost and began to eat. It, of course, was not the tastiest or most-expensive meal he had consumed, but it warmed his belly and it was the first morsel he’d gotten in many hours. 

The two ate in complete silence, save for a tense mention of Erik's arm, which was somewhat uncomfortable for the Vicomte, who was so well-accustomed to pleasant chatter during his meals. However, he knew it was best not to talk to Erik. He glanced up from his food to hazard a glance at his host, not surprised to find that he was eating very slowly with no expression on his face. Raoul wondered how he could eat with that mask.

Erik’s green eyes snapped up and met Raoul’s, and the blonde looked away, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. After that, Raoul decided to eat quickly, and thanked Erik again before scurrying away and returning to his bed, where he fell asleep without trouble. 

A routine began for Raoul. He emerged only for meals, and spent the duration of his time lying on his bed, inspecting the ceiling and thinking deeply about his situation. He considered Christine, he considered Erik, and he wondered if anyone was looking for him. 

A day passed. And then- another. Raoul was miserable, and he felt like a prisoner. He was a prisoner, he supposed. He wondered what Erik was doing, if he too was bored. Surely, he must be restless, unable to play his organ for fear of being heard. 

After steeling his nerves and working himself up a considerable amount of courage, Raoul finally decided to leave the room and find something to entertain himself. He pushed open the large door to his room, and immediately noticed that the Phantom was sat on the sofa, deeply immersed in a book.

“Hello, Erik. I know that you asked me not to bother you, but truthfully I am terribly bored and feeling very alone. I was wondering if perhaps you’d like some company.”

Erik scowled and bit back, “No, Vicomte, I would not like any company.” 

Raoul’s face fell and he turned to return to his room, feeling very disappointed and a bit scared of Erik’s wrath. 

“Wait.” Raoul turned to face Erik, waiting for him to continue speaking. The masked man took in a deep breath and began, “I am currently reading a fascinating book about the Shah of Persia, but I suppose you can select a book for yourself and sit with me if you are completely silent.” 

Raoul nodded and gave a small smile, unsure of what changed the man’s mind but unwilling to question it, and began looking through the books before finally settling on a collection of fairy tales by the brothers Grimm. Erik eyed him and scoffed at his selection. Raoul felt a need to defend himself, and he began speaking without thinking.

“What, you think Christine is the only one who enjoys stories like this?” Raoul started, sitting on the sofa and touching the cover of the book. “I always loved fairy tales, especially the tale of the Angel of Music, just as much as she did.” Raoul smiled sheepishly and thought to himself that perhaps mentioning that particular tale was a misstep on his part, but he continued to speak regardless. “Her father told us many stories that one summer by the sea, more than my own father or brother would. They thought fairy tale stories were far too feminine for a young Vicomte to be wrapped up in, and that I would do better to read about navigation, or the sea, or some other topic I had no interest in whatsoever.” Raoul noticed that Erik’s countenance had shifted into some expression that he could not read, and he assumed that Erik was irritated at him for chattering on. “I apologize for speaking so much. I promised I would be quiet.” 

Raoul was quite surprised by the response Erik gave. “It’s… alright, I suppose. But it would be wise of you to shut up now.” The Vicomte could not help but notice that there was little bite in the Phantom’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the chapter! Again, I apologize for the insane wait, and I know that this chapter wasn't juicy enough to warrant that kind of wait. I promise I will try to make it up to you in chapters to come.  
> Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed.   
> Thanks for not giving up on this story!


	4. Storytelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I’m writing this fic I’m realizing that while I have such a clear idea of what Raoul looks like – as I mentioned before, literally google Aaron Taylor Johnson in Anna Karenina and that’s him!! - (except without the mustache even though Leroux!Raoul has a fine mustache), I do not have a clear idea of what Erik looks like.   
> He definitely has green eyes, looks a bit like Gerik with a worse disfigurement, and I have fallen in love with the bodytype of Ben Lewis, who played Erik in Love Never Dies in Australia. He is such a hulking figure, with broad-shoulders and a very impressive height. That’s what I want my Erik to be!! So as you are reading, keep in mind that this Erik is very large and imposing. I’ll try to incorporate that more in the story now that I’ve decided that’s what I want. Bad writing moment on my part. 
> 
> Thank you to those who left kudos/comments! I’m so pleased with the amount of hits and subscribers this story has. I’m chock full of inspiration so expect more and more!! 
> 
> Also this chapter, oddly enough, contains some spoilers about Macbeth so tread lightly I suppose

Erik soon found that the act of reading alongside Raoul felt strangely like receiving a gift. Each day, the Vicomte came out of the Louis-Phillipe room with a pleasant expression on his face, wearing the clothing that had once belonged to Erik but now was altered to better fit his height, said a brief good morning to Erik, and selected a book.

He would then sit near Erik on his sofa, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do, and would become engrossed in whatever story he was reading. He had absolutely burned through the collection of fairy tales he had chosen, and just three days after beginning that tome of a book he had asked Erik, bright blue eyes wide and hopeful, if he had any suggestions about another book to read.

The masked man could not help but be flattered that the Vicomte wanted to read something of his choosing. Of course, there was a chance that Raoul was overwhelmed by the vast selection of books in Erik’s library and truly did not know where to start. However, the hopeful look in Raoul’s eyes and the wide smile once Erik handed him a beautiful leather-bound copy of Macbeth made Erik truly feel like his opinion mattered to the Vicomte.

Once Raoul did get to reading the play, Erik found that he could hardly focus on his own book when Raoul and all of his reactions were so near. Raoul had a habit of voicing his reactions to things out-loud, which should have been extremely irritating, but Erik could not muster any anger when he heard Raoul’s pealing laughter or his gasps of shock. Ever so often, Erik snuck a glance in the blonde’s direction, and was surprised to find such open expressions in his presence. The few people he had ever interacted with during his miserable existence, including Madame Giry and his sweet Christine, always seemed to be guarded around him, afraid of expressing their feelings.

In contrast, Raoul did not shield a single thing he felt as he made his way through the Scottish play. Perhaps the young man was not even aware that his feelings were appearing so clear on his face. He was certainly unaware that Erik had begun unabashedly watching him in awe for minutes on end. He was so wrapped up in the story, so intent on finishing, that it seemed he was in his own little world. 

The moments that affected Erik the most were when Raoul broke free from that little world, and would stop his reading to interact with him about what he had encountered. The first of these moments was when the blonde laughed gently and playfully remarked, “If she were an actress, I believe Madame Giry would be quite fit to play Lady Macbeth.”

Erik could not help the surprised laugh he let out in response, which sounded all too foreign to his own ears. Could that genuine laugh truly belong to him? Raoul, by the looks of his surprised blue eyes and slight smile, felt similarly to Erik about hearing the masked man laugh freely. Erik responded, “Which part of the play are you reading currently?”

“The part about how Lady Macbeth would bash her child’s brains out while breast-feeding,” Raoul quipped back, grinning wickedly. Erik just shook his head, fighting a smile.

The second of these moments came much later, when Raoul looked up at Erik with fat tears streaming down his face. His bottom lip quivered slightly and he choked out, “I knew Macbeth was awful, but I truly cannot believe that he just murdered Macduff’s wife and son!”

Erik was, needless to say, very surprised at the intense reaction to, in his opinion, a rather bland part of the story. “Well, there is no reason to cry over it. It isn’t real.”

Raoul rolled his eyes and wiped a tear away. “I know that it isn’t real. I suppose I just have a tendency to get wrapped up in these things.”

It was almost a disappointment, then, when Raoul closed the book and let out a deep sigh. He leaned back on the couch and looked at Erik, remarking, “Well, that was certainly intense.”

Erik nodded in response, not breaking eye contact with the Vicomte. The fact that Raoul also freely looked him in the eye, as though he was just another man, made him feel at once uncomfortable and a bit warm deep in his belly. Erik almost felt like, for once, he truly had a friend.

It was because of that eye contact that Erik asked, quite boldly, “Could you perhaps tell me a story, as Gustave Daae once told stories to you and Christine?” The instant the question was out of Erik’s mouth he felt like a fool. Why on earth would he want to hear a story from his rival, a story from his youth with the woman that Erik loved?

Raoul looked somewhat surprised at the question, but soon that surprise melted into a tender smile. “Why would you want to hear a silly old fairy tale?”

Erik looked away, repositioning himself so he was leaning back in the corner of the sofa. His long legs stretched out in front of him, pointing toward where Raoul was sat. He considered the Vicomte’s question. Why did he want to hear an old fairy tale? Well, he supposed he had never had that particular experience as a child, and he explained that to Raoul. “My own mother never told me any stories, nor did anyone in the traveling circus that I spent most of childhood. I suppose I’d just like to hear one at least once in my life.”

Raoul’s expression was so openly one of pity, and Erik’s usual reaction in response would be anger. Pity made his blood boil, made him explode in red-hot rage. But all he felt in the face of Raoul’s pity was a sense of shame.

“In that case, I must tell you a story then!” Raoul responded, moving so he too was in the corner of the sofa, facing toward Erik. “But I must warn you, I am probably not nearly as good of a story-teller as Gustave was.” Raoul began to think deeply, his chin resting on his hand. “I am trying to think of a story to tell you, but most of Gustave’s stories featured the Angel of Music.”

Erik coldly responded, “Please do _NOT_ tell me a damn story about the Angel of Music.”

“Oh!” Raoul suddenly exclaimed, as though he hadn’t just heard Erik’s cold remark. “There was one story that Gustave told that I always enjoyed. It is a very old Scandinavian tale called ‘East of the Sun and West of the Moon’.”

And so, Raoul embarked on his tale, and, all the while, Erik hung on his every word.

“Once there was a poor man who had three daughters. One day, a White Bear came to this man and asked that he might be given the man’s youngest and most beautiful daughter, and in exchange he would make the man very rich.”

“So a sentence into the story, there is already a talking bear?”

Raoul rolled his eyes and smirked. “Yes, there is a talking bear. No more interrupting- it ruins the flow of the story,” he chastised playfully. Erik’s cheeks warmed slightly. “This young and beautiful girl wasn’t sure if she wished to be married to a bear, but she was eventually persuaded and the White Bear took her to his enchanted castle.

Every night, the White Bear visited the young woman in her bed as a man, but it was always dark in her room so she could not see him. Every night for some time, he came to her room as such. I suppose that they did what people often do in rooms at night, but Gustave never mentioned the particulars…” Raoul trailed off, blushing slightly before clearing his throat.

“Anyway… soon the girl missed her home, and the White Bear allowed her to go back as long as she swore not to speak with her mother alone. Eventually, as mothers often do, she persuaded her daughter to speak to her alone, and the girl told her that the White Bear had been coming to her room at night but she couldn’t see him. Her mother decided that the White Bear was probably a troll, so she gave her daughter some candles so she might see who is in bed with her at night.

That night, the girl lit the candle once the White Bear was asleep beside her, and she found that he was actually an extremely handsome prince, with long, white hair the same color as the bear’s coat. In her shock at his attractiveness, she spilled a bit of candle wax on him. This wakes him up, and he is infuriated. If she had just been patient, and waited a year to see what he looked like, he would have been free of the spell that turned him into a bear during the day. Now that she had seen his human form, he must travel to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, where he is required to marry the troll princess daughter of his evil stepmother.

When the girl woke up, she found that the entire enchanted castle was completely gone. She missed her handsome prince, and set off to find him. Along the way, she met three old women who could not tell her where the castle east of the sun and west of the moon was, but they each gave her a gift: a golden apple, a golden carding comb, and a golden spinning wheel. She finally comes upon the East Wind, who sends her to the West Wind, who sends her to the South Wind, who finally sends her to the North Wind. The North Wind knows where the castle east of the sun and west of the moon is, and he sends her there.

Once she is there, she gives the troll princess her golden trinkets so she might spend the night with the prince. The troll agrees but sneaks the prince a drink that will make him sleep, and the girl cannot wake her prince. However, she is quite loud in her attempts, and townspeople hear her struggle and warn the prince. The next night, he does not drink the troll’s sleeping drink, and he is awake when the girl visits him.

The two come up with a plan to trick the trolls, and it works. The trolls are so mad that they explode! Free from the trolls and their spells, the prince is now a prince during the day, and he and his new wife are free to leave and live their happy lives. The end!”

Erik began to grin, unable to wipe the stupid smile from his face. The smile made his cheek bump against his mask, a sensation that he was not used to in the slightest. “That was some fine storytelling, Vicomte,” he teased. “You did change your tense a few times in the middle, and that story truly had no substance or moral at all, but it was still a fine story.”

Raoul laughed in response. “Oh, you are making fun of me! I warned you that I was not as good as Gustave.” The two men continued to smile at each other, and Erik felt a knot in his stomach as he gazed at Raoul’s warm expression, his bright blue eyes, and his wide grin.

The sound of the Vicomte’s stomach growling made them both laugh, but it also reminded Erik that their supply of food was running very low.

“We are almost out of food. I will sneak out into the city and fetch some more.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to do so?”

Erik considered that for a moment. No, he supposed it was not safe to do so, but if he didn’t, they would not have anything to eat.

“I will be fine,” Erik responded curtly, not used to being given any concern for his safety, and made his way out of the catacombs without a second thought.

* * *

 

In Erik’s absence, Raoul had little to do but to lie back on the sofa with a yawn. He inspected the ceiling and thought about what had just transpired between the two of them. He was very surprised when Erik had asked him to tell him a story, and he was also surprised at the wonderful interactions that they had been having for the past couple of days. It was almost easy to forget that this man was his rival, was a murderer, was his captor. Their interaction had bled into every aspect of their time together, and they no longer ate in intense silence. Now they had taken to chatting over dinner, and Raoul found himself relishing whenever he could make Erik let go of his stern, cold expression and smile just as any other man. 

Raoul felt quite a bit nervous for Erik as he went out to find food, against the Vicomte's better judgment. He had been told how to defend himself and what to do should the alarms in Erik’s home sound, but he did not feel any more secure in that knowledge.

The weight of his worry made him feel awfully tired, so he rolled over to his side and closed his eyes for just a moment.

He was awoken from his sleep when he felt a weight at his side, and a gentle caress of cold fingers against his cheek.

“Wake up, Raoul,” the voice – a voice like smooth velvet – crooned, and Raoul opened his eyes with a smile. His eyes drowsily met Erik’s deep green irises and Raoul stretched slightly, cheeks warming.

“I missed you,” Raoul said shyly, reaching up and covering the hand on his face with his own, nestling his cheek into Erik’s cool palm. “I was terribly worried.”

Erik smiled gently and replied, “Do not worry. I will always return to you, Raoul.”

Raoul leaned upwards and Erik met him halfway, pressing his cool, firm lips against Raoul’s in a gentle caress of a kiss. Raoul sighed in contentment against the masked man’s lips, and he reached a hand up to cradle the unmasked, perfect side of his face. Raoul felt so safe in his embrace, nestled by his large figure. The blonde boy deepened the kiss slightly, running his tongue along Erik’s bottom lip, and when Erik let out a low moan in the back of his throat…

 

Raoul startled awake with a harsh gasp. He was completely alone. Erik had not returned, they had not kissed. The only evidence of anything happening was the slight bulge in Raoul’s pants – pants that were a bit long for him despite Erik’s attempt at tailoring them. Raoul wiped the sweat off his brow and sat up, glancing at the clock. Erik had only been gone an hour.

_God, what a dream,_ Raoul thought to himself. How could Raoul think such thoughts about a man? And not just any man – the opera ghost himself. He willed his erection away by thinking of Carlotta. That worked rather well. 

When Erik returned with the food, Raoul stood up to help him put it away, but he could not meet Erik’s eyes in the shame that he felt in the wake of that dream.

And, God forgive him, he could not stop thinking about the feel of Erik’s lips on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> East of the Sun and West of the Moon is a real Scandinavian story that I fell in love with, so I do not take credit for that in any way. 
> 
> Also, did I trick any of you into thinking that Erik was actually kissing Raoul? Let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Playing Nurse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm updating so soon! I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter, and I apologize as I feel like I'm losing control over character development. This chapter seems particularly OOC to me. 
> 
> ALSO: There’s throw-up in this chapter. Just a warning, in case that sort of thing bothers you.

Erik sat on his sofa, leaning back and thinking about the Vicomte as he waited for the blonde to emerge from his room and sit beside him. Raoul had a way, as of late, of creeping into Erik’s thoughts throughout his day.

Erik had always, or for as long as he could remember, at least, had a fascination with beautiful things. Whether that be trinkets, or décor, or architecture, or music, or _people_ , Erik always found himself obsessing over pretty things. And for so long, Christine had stood at the top of Erik’s list of favorite beautiful things.

With her soft curves, her wild hair, her doe eyes, and her voice like a bird, Erik had always considered Christine to be the most gorgeous creature to ever inhabit the earth, and the only person who he could ever love.

Slowly but surely, however, Raoul was revealing more and more of his beauty to Erik. Of course, Erik knew that Raoul was a fine specimen of a man from the start– a perfect young Vicomte – but as he got to know the blonde for who he truly was, he found that the beauty he saw in Raoul increased by ten-fold. What he once had resented about the boy he now found himself admiring and, dare he say, relishing. 

His blue eyes were always nice, of course, but Erik felt like he had never truly looked at them until they were meeting his, bright and clear, small lines appearing at their sides when Raoul smiled. His mop of curly hair was surely always an attractive trait, but Erik felt as though he was seeing their golden hue for the first time every time Raoul tossed his head back in laughter, his curls bouncing about. Raoul’s flawless, alabaster skin looked most perfect when he was flushed in embarrassment or excitement. His pink lips, quite plump for a man, stunned Erik every time Raoul smiled in his direction.

God, the more and more Erik was interacting with Raoul, the more and more plain Christine’s appearance seemed to be. Raoul’s bright and expressive indigo eyes made Christine’s brown seem dull and commonplace.  The gold of his hair made Christine’s brown seem mousy and homely, not wild and stunning as Erik had once thought.

And the lines of Raoul’s agile body, hard lines that Erik could not help but notice as Raoul walked, and stretched, and moved _at all_ , made Christine’s body seem entirely too soft, lacking structure and strength.

Mostly, Raoul had given Erik something that Christine never could – a sense of normalcy. Raoul, with his ethereal presence, his forgiving, demure nature, his bright laughter and expression, made Erik feel, for just a moment, that he was not a monster or a ghost, nor an angel to be worshiped and idolized. Raoul treated Erik as though he were nothing but a man- a man deserving of attention and friendship.

Erik buried his face in his hands at how absurd his thoughts were becoming. He _was_ a monster and a murderer, he reminded himself. Raoul had not reacted well when he was close to his unmasked face. Erik could not let himself forget that, for all his beauty, Raoul wasn't an angel. He was only interacting with him because there was no one else for him to be with.

That must have been it. Raoul could not truly like Erik or his company. He probably felt revulsion in his stomach every time he had to look at the masked man. He must have just dealt with that because it was better than being completely alone.

Erik stood quickly, having worked himself into a state of rage at how completely insane his thoughts toward the Vicomte were becoming. Raoul was _not_ more beautiful than Christine. He couldn’t be.

Erik glanced at the clock, and was startled to see that it was two in the afternoon. His anger quickly shifted into slight concern, as Raoul was still holed up in his room. By this time, the two should have already eaten lunch and would typically be sitting and reading or speaking by this point.

He approached the Louis-Phillipe room, and knocked on the door with his large fist. Once, twice, _three_ times before the door creaked open and he was met with the sight of Raoul, hair disheveled and face rosy. He was still in his night clothes, but he was also wearing the robe that Erik had leant to him on the first day. On top of that, he was holding a thick blanket to himself. Despite all of those layers, he was visibly shivering.

“What…” he started, his voice rough and eyes groggy from sleep, “What time is it?”

“Just past two in the afternoon, Raoul. Have you been sleeping all day?”

Raoul sighed and sat down on the bed, bringing the blanket closer to his body. He seemed so small at that moment. Of course, he was much smaller than Erik, as Erik was probably a full head taller than him.  Wrapped up in blankets and shivering revealed just how much Erik dwarfed the Vicomte.

“I’ve been in and out of sleep, I suppose… I’m just so damn cold.” As if emphasizing his statement, Raoul’s body quaked with a rather violent shiver.

Erik did not feel cold in the slightest, and he could not help but notice that Raoul’s face was red and there was sweat gathering above his brow. Erik reached out to touch Raoul’s forehead, but his hand lingered in the air. He had to work up the courage to reach out and check Raoul’s temperature.

Once he finally did work up the courage, he pressed the back of his hand to the Vicomte’s forehead and gasped. Raoul shut his eyes and remarked, “Your hand is cold.”

“Raoul, your skin is on fire. How could you be cold?”

Raoul just shrugged and began coughing slightly. Oh, no. He was clearly ill, possibly the after-effects of the stress of being tied up against the portcullis and sleeping on the ground.

“Why don’t you lie down, and I will get you some cold water?” Erik asked, and he hoped that the deep concern he felt wasn’t clear on his face.

Raoul smiled drowsily and burrowed himself under the covers, resting his head against the pillow. “Monsieur Erik, you’re such a nice man…” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Let us be friends for the rest of our lives.”

Erik’s eyes widened and he decided that Raoul must be running a very, very high fever. Erik quickly fetched a glass of water as well as a cold towel. He forced Raoul to sit up and drink, despite the blonde’s pouting, and once he had finished the glass he pressed the towel on the Vicomte’s forehead.

“That’s… that’s cold,” he gasped, grimacing.

“Well, we have to bring your fever down so you are just going to have to put up with it.”

Erik sat at the side of the bed, wiping his face with the towel. His skin appeared to be less flushed now, and Erik felt relieved. Raoul had closed his eyes and drifted off into a shallow sleep, his chest rising and falling so slightly that Erik had to check he was still breathing.

Suddenly, though, Raoul’s eyes opened, and his hand flew up to cover his mouth. “I’m… I’m going to be ill.” He pushed himself out of the bed, shoving Erik out of the way, and dashed to the bathroom. Raoul fell to his knees in front of the toilet and began retching violently.

As it were, Erik was backed into a corner and forced to dote on Raoul and nurse him back to health. The blonde boy did not have much energy at all, so Erik did not feel right just leaving him to suffer in his sickness. After all, Raoul had tenderly stitched his wound after Christine left, and that was before they had even forged an alliance of sorts. If Raoul could lend a helping hand toward Erik even in the face of cruelty, then surely Erik could return the favor.

Luckily enough, under Erik’s watchful eye, Raoul regained his strength relatively quickly. By the next morning his fever had broken, and he no longer felt sick when he got out bed.

Another day of rest proved to be ideal, and two days later Raoul was his normal self again, completely recovered.

Seeing Raoul up and out of bed, feeding himself and energetic once again, left Erik with a feeling of such intense relief.

Truthfully, he didn’t quite know what to make of all that he was feeling toward the Vicomte these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed! Please leave likes/kudos if you did as they make me happy and give me inspiration.


	6. Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! It's kind of OOC... yet again.

By the time that Raoul’s health had been restored, thanks to Erik’s careful attention, the pair realized that they had already spent a full week together. Once Raoul had counted out the days and noted just how long he’d already been in Erik’s home under the opera house, he was honestly a little disappointed at how quickly time had passed. There was something quite relaxing about not having any responsibilities at all, being able to wake up as late as he wished, and spending most of his time reading.

Not to mention, he was with good company.

Erik had proven to Raoul that he did not hate the blonde anymore after he had helped him recover from his sickness. It would have been one thing if Erik had just brought Raoul food and left him in his room alone to sweat his fever out. That was not what Erik did; Erik sat with him, kept him company, checked his temperature, and wouldn’t let him get out of bed until he was sure he could handle it.

Raoul had not really expected that Erik had those sort of caring instincts, considering the fact that he had no qualms with dropping a chandelier on a full crowd, murdering stagehands, and kidnapping people. Raoul felt that while he had been in this house – while he was sick, when Erik sat with him and ate with him, when Erik asked him to tell him a story – he had been given insight into who Erik actually was. Perhaps, Raoul thought, Erik was justified in some of the actions he had taken in the past few months. Loneliness, the blonde supposed, could drive a man to do crazy things.

Raoul was sat with Erik considering these things when the masked man suddenly rose from his seat and made his way toward the organ.

“Are you going to play?” Raoul asked, closing his book as Erik sat at the organ bench.

Erik did not grant Raoul a response; instead, he just began to play. Raoul assumed that he had decided that, because it had already been some time since the mob was after him, that it would be safe to play as loud and free as he wanted.

And, God, did Erik play his instrument loudly. Raoul was absolutely enveloped in the sound that Erik was producing. He played so masterfully that Raoul could do nothing but watch and listen in fascination.

But the music! The music he played was like a long sob of agony and loneliness, and it made tears prickle at the corners of Raoul’s eyes. This was the musical embodiment of frustration and anger, and if Raoul hadn’t already come to the realization that Erik was just a lost soul, he certainly would have then. Listening to Erik play so passionately, so anguished, made Raoul terribly sad for Erik.

Perhaps, Raoul considered, there was a way that Erik could channel his energy into something a little less painful.

Once the piece came to a close, Raoul stood up and approached Erik. “That was truly a masterful piece. I wish I could understand it a bit more.”

Erik looked up from his sheet music and gave Raoul a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“May I?” Raoul asked, gesturing toward the empty space near Erik on the bench. Once Erik had nodded his assent, Raoul sat and began to explain himself. “I can listen to music and appreciate it. I enjoy it. But I do not have any technical knowledge of it whatsoever.”

“You never received any music lessons then? How is it that the patron of an opera house could have no understanding of music?”

“I told you,” Raoul responded, slightly defensive. “I enjoy it. I _feel_ it. I really offer little to this opera house other than monetary support.”

Erik nodded, clearly thinking deeply about something. “I must admit, I miss teaching Christine. There is something deeply satisfying to me about helping someone progress under my instruction. If you wish, I could maybe teach you some basics about music and playing the organ.”

Raoul smiled widely and nodded excitedly. “That’d be wonderful! Thank you, Erik.”

The shy smile Raoul received in response made Raoul’s chest tighten slightly.

* * *

 

And that is how it began that Erik taught Raoul the basics of music. He had taught Raoul how to read it, understand time signatures and key signatures, and which keys on the piano matched with which notes. Raoul had, thus far, been rather impressed with Erik’s patience, especially when Raoul could not seem to understand the difference between bass and treble clef.

After a few hours of instruction, Erik had placed a rather basic piece of music in front of Raoul and asked him if he might play it on the organ. Raoul felt relatively confident, so he got to playing.

He had only played a single measure when Erik stopped him. “What is the rhythm of these notes, Raoul?”

Raoul leaned forward and examined the sheet music. “The first measure is… two quarter notes and then a half note?”

“Correct. But you just played that measure as four quarter notes. It is not enough to just get the notes correct. Rhythm is an important part of the feeling of the piece.”

Raoul nodded and attempted to play the measure again. This time, he got the rhythm correct and mentally patted himself on the back. He continued playing until he was stopped yet again.

“Raoul, look at your key signature. Why are you playing all Bs instead of B-flats?”

Raoul buried his face in his hands, incredibly embarrassed. “My goodness, I am horrible at this.”

Erik shook his head and smiled gently. “You aren’t the worst, I’m sure,” he teased. “Certainly not the best, but most likely not the worst either.”

Raoul took his face out of his hands and met Erik’s eyes, exploring their beautiful color. Close up like this, sitting side by side on the organ bench, Raoul realized for the first time that in addition to deep green, Erik also had slight flecks of gold in his eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the masked man, examining his features. If he did not have the deformity, Raoul guessed that he would be possibly one of the most handsome men in Paris. The skin on the side of his face that was unmangled was smooth and taut, stretched over a firm jaw and strong cheekbones. Raoul’s eyes trailed down to Erik’s lips. They were not as plump as the Vicomte’s own, but they were fine and nicely shaped.

The very strong urge to know what those lips would feel like under his swept over Raoul, and before he could control himself he leaned forward, brushing his lips gently over Erik’s.

They were cool, just Raoul had dreamt, and softer than they appeared. Raoul felt tingles running down his spine at the gentle press of their lips together.

This was, of course, before he was violently shoved away. Erik had pushed him away and off the bench, and Raoul ended up falling onto his ass with a loud thud.

He watched with wide eyes as Erik ranted at him, truly angered. For the first time since their altercation at the portcullis, Raoul felt real fear wash over him because of Erik. “How _dare_ you? This is betrayal! Might I remind you that you are engaged, Vicomte. To Christine. A woman that _I_ love! To think I thought that you might actually be someone good to have in my company. You are nothing but an insolent little boy!” the masked man shouted in a long stream, his face turning red and fists clenched at his sides.

Raoul felt he had been punched in the face. His lower back hurt from falling onto the floor and, worse, the sting of rejection brought shameful tears to his eyes. Without a second thought, he got up off the floor and stormed into the Louis-Phillipe room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

Raoul had decided that he wasn’t going to leave his room, even to eat. Once the anger he felt had simmered down, he mostly felt a sense of embarrassment and shame. He felt like a complete fool. Erik had given him absolutely no indication that he wanted to kiss Raoul, but Raoul had gone and initiated one anyway.

The Vicomte couldn’t help but consider what Erik had said about the kiss being a betrayal to Christine. Erik was right; Raoul _was_ engaged to her. Or, at least, he supposed that he was still engaged to her. Christine had practically thrown her indecision in his face, making it perfectly clear that despite all that they had shared and all that he had done for her, she wasn’t sure if she truly wanted to be married to him.

Raoul couldn’t understand why she hadn’t just expressed her feelings from the beginning instead of kissing him on the roof, turning to him for protection, and agreeing to a secret engagement. It was then that a rather negative thought began creeping into Raoul’s mind. He tried to push it away, but slowly it began to be all that he could think about.

Raoul began to wonder if Christine had actually just been using him to protect her from the Opera Ghost.

Ha! If only she knew what Raoul was beginning to think of Erik. He was undoubtedly attracted to him – that much was clear.

Raoul decided, then, that these three weeks did not truly count for anything. His attraction toward Erik and that kiss did not count as infidelity. Christine had made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t sure of how she felt. If Christine could question her feelings, then why couldn’t Raoul?

His realization, however, did not change the fact that he absolutely _refused_ to leave this room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up between our boys!!! I hope Erik's little tirade wasn't completely out of character. I tried. *shrug*  
> Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading!!


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